


Handle Me

by ivanolix



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon - TV, Canon Bisexual Character, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Female Characters, Female-Centric, Femslash, Fingerfucking, POV Female Character, Porn, Porn Battle, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cara finds herself entranced by an innkeeper who has a unique understanding of dominance and submission. Written for the Seeker Porn Battle prompt "not so soft".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle Me

"This is becoming your favorite inn," Kahlan remarked as they bundled their way through the tavern doors, the icy wind being quickly replaced by the fiery indoor cheer.

"I think it's unfortunate that I have enough experience with them to have a favorite," Cara answered dryly. As if it was a lion's mane, she shook her hair in the Mother Confessor's direction, the snow melting as it flew off in a hundred little droplets.

Kahlan dropped the subject with a roll of her eyes. Since peace had been restored to D'Hara and the Midlands, she had been 'required' to go on dozens of political journeys to deal with the details. As far as her lead Mord'Sith was concerned, it was a horrid waste of Kahlan's unique talents. Kahlan's answering look to that remark was always one that implied that Cara would rather Kahlan only display her bedchamber 'talents'. She wasn't too far off... Cara hadn't had a good lay in nearly six months, and that one she'd had to pay for with flowers and a not-home-cooked meal. Quite the horrific state of things, and Cara's bedchamber talents were on their way to becoming rusty.

The Mother Confessor liked to tease Cara about that—although Cara was certain that she did so out of desperation. There was no one alive who could share Kahlan's bed without leaving it as a shell of a person. And no one who Kahlan would be willing to sacrifice for the comfort of a single night.

So Cara ignored her teasing, and carried on her own way. She'd longed for Kahlan, in her own way, for a much lengthier period than had probably been wise. On weary nights when she'd had no effort to conjure up inventive fantasies, Kahlan made many appearances, her name breathy on Cara's lips as she pleasured herself. Idle fancies, and useless. Cara knew with all her rational mind that Kahlan was out of her reach, and so she kept her options open.

In that regard, this inn was indeed her favorite.

The woman behind the bar always looked sly, as if any moment she might reveal that she was a long-lost wizard of the First Order. Slight—but Cara had seen her in action and knew not to underestimate her. Drunken rogues and marauders alike would fall by a swift dislocation of the shoulder, or by a crossbow bolt at the collarbone. All before the woman had time to let out a casual breath.

Needless to say, Cara's interest piqued from their first visit. As this inn was situated along common routes for Midlander travel, her interest had time to grow.

"You look at her like you used to look at me," Kahlan told her as they mounted the dusty staircase to their rooms. "Nothing exists above the chest."

"That's untrue," Cara retorted, parting from the Confessor's side at the entrance to her room. "I always noted that you had attractive lips as well."

Kahlan gave her a look, as she always did—dryly frustrated with a hint of longing. The love-life of the Mother Confessor was not one Cara envied.

With that in mind, she paused at her door. Tired, but not too tired, she decided to use an opportunity. Cara descended again to the main room of the tavern, leaning on the edge of the bannister and eyeing the woman behind the bar. Soft brown hair, deep cleavage, and the hint of shapely hips under those skirts...she was clearly extraordinary.

The tavern had emptied out for the night, and Cara took advantage of the emptiness to rest an elbow on the bar and ogle freely.

"You can fuck off," Dahlia said without looking up from her scrubbing of the bar.

Cara grinned like a cat. "Do you say that to all your customers?"

"Just the ones trying to get me out of my clothes." She swept the rag from the counter and wiped her hands on said skirt. Her eyes, surprisingly warm and brown, met Cara's boldly.

Some might have taken it as a warning. Cara wasn't one of them.

"I don't want you out of them." Stepping around the bar with long, swaggering strides, Cara ran her fingertips along the counter's clean top. "I just want _up_ them." Before Dahlia could respond, Cara snatched a handful of her petticoats and pulled her closer.

"Oh I guessed that," Dahlia said after a light gasp. She had a few inches on the Mord'Sith, and when she pulled her shoulders back there was suddenly an expanse of lightly-tanned skin in Cara's face. "I've entranced you, haven't I."

The Mord'Sith had her fingers sliding up the outside of Dahlia's thighs, but they stopped their exploration all in an instant. Dahlia smelled earthy, and it had been too long since Cara'd had such a pair of breasts thrust towards her. She sucked in a breath, mouth dry—

Dahlia twirled away, giving Cara a kick in the shins. "Typical. Desperate to have your hands on a woman."

Eyes rolling, Cara let out a soft growl. "Not a woman...this woman." She followed Dahlia swiftly, tugging the innkeeper back by the waist and pressing lips against her ear. "And the fact that you're not easy makes it more satisfying."

She expected, wryly, for Dahlia to kick her again. Yet the woman held still in her arms, then twisted her head to glance back into Cara's eyes. The light in them was almost familiar—it spoke of lazy summers and crisp autumns that Cara hadn't experienced in decades.

Dahlia had never been ordinary. She and Cara both knew it without saying.

"I know your type," she murmured, with a slide of her hips to melt back into Cara's arms. "Mord'Sith don't ask, even former ones. Well..." Her voice dropped to a purr, breath tickling against Cara's jaw. "If you don't tell anyone else, I'll let you in on a secret."

Breathing already hitched, Cara nodded once, twining her fingers together in front Dahlia's waist. "I've kept more secrets than I ever planned to. One more will hardly hurt." Some secrets she would never tell, and Cara couldn't say she was fond of them...yet even so, Cara would have accepted the burden for Dahlia. One didn't commit to a chase if the prize wasn't fully worth it.

Long, slightly-roughened fingers slid over Cara's hands, dragging one up to cup a barely-concealed breast. Dahlia's voice was a wisp of dark honey, her lips finding soft purchase against Cara's jawline.  "If you want me that badly that you will _take_ me...claim me for every future visit...I'll let you have what you want."

No one had ever given her such a proposition. Liquid fire rushed straight to Cara's sex, almost as intense as an agiel-strike. She let a heated moan free, then sank her teeth into Dahlia's throat and slammed her hips forward. The other woman laughed, slightly, but it was tangled with desire and she followed Cara's motions. It was like a dream, only none that Cara had ever indulged in. A couple steps, another shove of Cara's hips, and she'd pinned Dahlia to the bar. Clothes still parted them, but the heat rushed through her like the finest wine and her hand clasped tightly around Dahlia's breast. The woman's heart beat strongly, no delicate flutter, through the soft curve resting in Cara's grasp—and Cara couldn't claim that her own was any calmer.

The fire crackled in the hearth while she merely breathed the woman in, smelling the want and the submission and the unprecedented power beneath it. Mord'Sith played power games, sister versus sister, and challenged each other to take or be taken. Dahlia hadn't made it a challenge—it was an order. Yet Cara was willing to obey.

Dahlia made a low sound as Cara slid her hand under the mass of skirts and dragged her underthings down around her knees. "Not so cool and composed, are we," Cara breathed in her ear, smirking and giving a slap to a newly-bared cheek. The other woman tried to bite back the sound, but Cara heard it, ragged and vulnerable. It wasn't a surprise to spread Dahlia's thighs and find slippery wetness between them. Biting down, sucking lightly to leave a mark on the woman's throat, Cara let her fingers explore these new most-intimate parts—Dahlia squirmed and breathed hard, and Cara had yet to do more than tease.

"Hold still," Cara ordered, flicking her tongue behind Dahlia's ear.

"Make me," came a breathy moan, and Dahlia pushed her ass back against Cara's hand.

Cara gave her another slap for her trouble, her fingers wet with Dahlia's arousal. The woman still squirmed. Looking over her shoulder, Cara saw the worn fingers of the innkeeper gripping the counter, knuckles bloodless with the effort. Another slap on the ass, and yet another, produced only strangled sounds of pleasure.

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into." Cara slid her hand back between Dahlia's legs as she purred, finding the little nub of nerves and stroking it with a single fingertip. "I'm a Mord'Sith. If I claim you, that might mean taking my agiel and branding your ass as mine until you scream with the pain." A little pinch to Dahlia's clit and the woman gasped. "Are you really trusting me?"

"Those who travel with the Mother Confessor," Dahlia breathed out, "are not those who enjoy the giving of pain. Perhaps the receiving of it, but..."

Growling slightly, Cara pulled her hand back and thrust two fingers suddenly into the woman's core. All words stopped and Dahlia arched back, tightening instantly around the intruding fingers. "That's better," Cara said with a low chuckle, curling her fingers and giving a quick hard thrust.

"It is," Dahlia agreed through a breathy moan, entire body trembling slightly. "Fuck me, Cara."

Resistance was beyond her—Cara obeyed yet again, and with one hand kneading a breast and the other pumping between her legs, she fucked Dahlia over her own bar counter. No sounds but moans and the wet thrusts filled the inn's common room. Cara felt Dahlia growing wetter by the minute while she twisted her fingers deep inside her, stroking until the woman groaned. But the careful strokes were but teases, and Cara thrust and thrust, taking what she was offered.

Finally Dahlia threw her head back against Cara's shoulder and arched, core spasming around Cara's hand. She nearly whimpered with pleasure and rode Cara's fingers with jerky movements of her hips until at last she seemed to melt against the bar, limp in Cara's arms.

The room smelled of sex. While no stranger to receiving bodily submission, the thrill was the same every time for Cara. She grinned in satisfaction and removed her fingers to lick them clean, watching Dahlia watch her with sated eyes. "Mine," she whispered, and gave the woman's ass another soft slap. "And every time I visit, I will make you more mine than before."

Dahlia smiled, a soft smile that was yet full of strength. "I look forward to it," she murmured, finally pushing herself up from the bar and straightening her skirts. Several strands of brown hair had escaped her bun to frame her face like a corona. A little smirk crossed her lips, and she took her time tucking her breasts back into her bodice. "Now go on, the bar is closed. You should get to your room."

The span of several heartbeats passed while Cara considered how to handle the egregious insult proffered. Dahlia was _hers_ , wasn't she? She couldn't make such possessive remarks without punishment. Embers of a fire still crackled across the hall, and Dahlia looked like a cat who'd gotten in the cream as she carried on her work. All but demanding Cara to do something about her.

Yet at last Cara stalked up the stairs to her chamber, telling herself that she'd deal with the woman after a good night's rest. There was a grin that wouldn't leave her face, and for some reason Cara felt like she _knew_ Dahlia and was well-used to the lack of appropriate awe for her title of Mistress of the Mord'Sith. Once the frustration had dissipated, the sensation it left was...not unwanted. Not at all, Cara told herself, fingers straying between her legs with thoughts of the innkeeper and not Kahlan filling her mind for the first time.

This would be quite the arrangement, and she'd make sure that every journey of Kahlan's passed by this inn.

 


End file.
